Existence
by Fylkii
Summary: What does it mean to live, to exist, for a 300 million year old genetically and mechanically altered Genesect? (Rebooted)
1. Prologue: Hunted

The black bipedal fox-like creature ran through the misty forest with agility, cutting through the damp air she once called her home. Her red hair extended to nearly her entire body length, tinged with black spikes the color of the darkest night. Her claws were of deep crimson, and had always kept her out of trouble when combat was necessary.

But in the Zoroark's eyes, true fear radiated. Fear of a predator, one with inhuman strength and power, yet with the intelligence to have tracked her for three months. The fear that induces the panic, the primal will to survive.

Instinct told her to create her illusion and seek refuge. But that… thing… It could not be eluded. It wasn't natural. Nothing natural could have seen through her illusion. Yet she doubted she had the strength to create one. All her willpower was devoted to fleeing. To see another day.

The forest seemed endless. But the Zoroark knew, in her years of residence, that she had the advantage here. Something wasn't quite right, and she quickly paused to sniff the air. She felt a human presence, one that needed help. Curiosity broke her will to escape, and she slowly walked to where her senses told her the human was located. Perhaps she thought that the human was a ranger, or at least a trainer that could protect her. Normally the Zoroark would never go near a human without an illusion, but she was desperate. It was likely her only chance.

It was a good day for Eva. This day marked the second year of her career as the member of a top Ranger company, the Paladins, dedicated to protect the rare and elusive Pokemon of her world. Her partner Grovyle seemed to share the same feeling of accomplishment, although he was born a mute and was limited to only gestures to communicate. Eva seemed to be the only one who understood him, so they soon forged a close bond.

Eva was assigned to the north-west section of the Lonesome Woods. It was the only post open when she was accepted into the Paladins, and after two years patrolling the area, she knew why. The Lonesome Woods were already quite lonesome, but the north-west seemed the most secluded of them all. It was rumored to drive Rangers insane, but Eva just chuckled at her friend's warnings. After all, she had Grovyle. That was the only company she needed while patrolling these areas.

* * *

The day went past quickly, and soon the stars and moon ascended to the dark blanket of night.

"Beautiful night, isn't it…" Eva whispered to her partner.

Grovyle gave no reaction, instead being content to piece together the puzzles formed by the bright stars.

Several minutes later, Grovyle began to grow restless. He looked over at Eva, and tried to look concerned.

Eva quickly took notice of her partner's change of mood, and decided they would call it a night.

"Let's get back before anyone gets worried." Of course they had been out much later, it was just an old joke Grovyle and Eva did not mind sharing even to this day.

As they packed up their Ranger equipment, the bushes in the left of the clearing started to rustle. Eva dismissed it as the cool spring breeze, but Grovyle sensed something off. He quickly motioned towards Eva, who immediately understood.

A minute passed yet nothing revealed itself. Yet another minute elapsed, and the motion died.

"See, Grovyle? Just the wind-"

Eva froze. This time, she felt the presence of a stranger. Slowly turning her head, she found herself staring into the eyes of the most magnificent creature she had ever seen.

The Zoroark.

But Eva could tell that she was afraid. The Zoroark's eyes were wide, and her breaths came in ragged gasps through lungs battered with the stress of constant running. Kneeling to make a less threatening figure, Eva spoke softly to the fox-like Pokemon, trying to calm it down, as she had done many times in her training.

* * *

_What are you doing? It isn't safe here!_

The Zoroark tried to warn the Ranger to make her escape. She had hoped that the human would be able to at least help her get to a safe place to rest, but she knew this Ranger and her Grovyle would stand no chance against Zoroark's hunter.

However, the Ranger just stared. The Pokemon tried again to tell the human of the danger.

_Leave! Before-_

A soft whirring sound echoed through the woods. The sound the Zoroark was running from for the past two months.

She knew it was too late to run.

* * *

Eva saw it unfold seemingly in slow-motion, viewing every frame but unable to help as a sphere of fire burst through the trees and slammed directly into the Zoroark's back. She was immediately knocked down by the explosion, coughing by the burning smoke thrown by the projectile. The force of the detonation was too powerful; there was no way it was natural.

"We need to… cough… get out of here…" Eva sputtered to her Grovyle, who was suffering a similar fate sprawled on the cold ground.

Slowly they crawled to a safe distance, where they wistfully watched the smoke clear through irritated eyes. The Zoroark lay unmoving, eyes closed and teeth clenched in unbearable pain. Her entire back was scorched, and the burn would kill the beautiful Pokemon if not treated. Eva was tempted to return to her side and get her medical attention, but Grovyle held her back and motioned for her to listen.

Mechanical footsteps echoed across the forest, nearing the location of the fallen Zoroark. The whirring sound slowly faded, and was soon overpowered by the sound of shifting metal components. Then there was silence.

Through sheer willpower, the severely injured Pokemon tried to lift its head off the floor and turn itself around. But a metal leg came down with force that made Eva wince, forcing the Zoroark's head down. The hunter regarded its prey coldly, oblivious to the presence of the Ranger.

Eva was frozen in fear, eyes wide and glued with horror, fixated on the ruthless predator claiming victory over its prey. She'd never seen anything like it before. It had the features of an arachnid and an insect… but on its back…

"Dear Arceus..." Eva managed to gasp.

**Author's Note**: And with that starts my story! A little rough and all, but I'm glad I was able to hash out my ideas in this... prologue. Being my first formal story, reviews mean a lot to me! Please understand! Be brutally honest, I'll never improve without feedback!


	2. Programmed

_**There are the hunters and there are the hunted. Remember that, Genesect.**_

The words echo in my head as I look down at the unconscious Zoroark at my feet. She eluded me for months. Foxes are cunning creatures, but I am the hunter. I always win. I feel the heat radiating from the machinery on my back, softly hissing from the burst of superheated energy.

_I am unnatural. A creation. A modified experiment, testing the limits of a fusion, one of Pokemon and technology. I can little about my past. Most of the memories I possessed are a blank space in my mind. Yet one thing I have remembered. It refuses to be forgotten._

_Team Plasma._

_My creators_.

_I come from a past long gone, revived from the dust I had become. Revived as a hunter. That's me. A hunter. A killer. Genesect, terror of the new age. That was all they told me. They refused to reveal anything else. Am I too dangerous?_

_I remember nothing after. Another blank space in my memory. In the present, I am lost. Team Plasma is gone and my searches are in vain. There is only me now. And I do what I was created for. What I remember._

I realize I drift off and anchor myself in the present. Perhaps mental freedom is a flaw. As if being wired to a machine of destruction, being the machine of destruction, wasn't detrimental. Every day I feel the weight of the artillery strapped to my back. The innovation of the century, they say. Testing the limits of nature and machine. I grew accustomed to it. I accept the fact that I was now, simply put, a living tank.

I take one more look at my fallen prey, and start walking off. The hunt is over.

"You bastard!"

_Who was that_? I turned to the sound of the voice. It was a human. She appears to be female, and in her early stages of maturity.

_She's angry. Humans are angered easily. Why would she be angry at me?_

"Look what you did! Heartless bastard!"

I looked down at the limp Zoroark under my feet. _She is angry at me for wounding the Zoroark. Of course. Humans always grow attached to Pokemon. But what does she want me to do?_

She doesn't respond, understandably. How can she respond to what she can't hear? Nobody can understand me, and I stopped expecting it long ago. I was not created with a speech drive, I was created with weapon drives. Hunters don't talk. All they need is functioning senses and a weapon.

_Right?_

Yet often I find myself lost in thought, drifting away from the solid world and into the deep, endless expanses of my mind. Or what's left of a mind after 300 million years of decay, spliced together by whatever circuitry I was installed with.

"**Cold blooded killer**!"

The human screamed at me again. Anger is a powerful emotion; it can surpass fear and anxiety, bypass the greatest pains. But I see the female's anger weakening. I do not give her the satisfaction of a response. I glare at her, my synthetic eyes unmoving. Before long she had walks away, retreating to the safety of her kin, leaving only me to ponder her accusations. To drift among thought once more and rationalize with myself.

_Heartless bastard... Cold-Blooded killer..._

I know I lack a heart to pump blood through my body. But then again, I am not the only hunter in this world to lack a cardiovascular system. Was she accusing me of being unnatural then, a monstrosity of technology's most cruel advancements put together in the means of me? I was created to be a hunter, a tracker. It's expected for a hunter to make a kill, yet why did the human denounce me for it?

_Cold Blooded. Heartless._

And in that moment, I understand why she hated me, loathed my existence.

_Emotions... Pity. Mercy. Fear. Anger._

_I was not programmed to feel emotion. Is it my fault? Or is it my creator's? Did they believe it was unnecessary for me to be able to feel as they shaped me to their will?_

_What is my existence without emotions? Am I just a ruthless hunter, killing everything in my path without hesitation or second thought? Because I was created to do so?_

Perhaps I was supposed to be an icon of fear and destruction, as my makers intended when they fused nature and machine to create the most dangerous and effective weapon.

But tonight, I refuse to be the killer I was designed to be.

I may not be programmed to feel.

I may not be programmed to cry.

I may not be programmed to laugh.

I may not be programmed for mercy.

I may not be programmed for compassion.

I may not be programmed for empathy.

But I can think, and I can act. I was given an independent mind. My creators are no longer on this world.

Tonight, I would be my own programmer.

Tonight, I would defy my purposes.

* * *

The Zoroark's breaths come in shallow patterns, accompanied by a weak cough as her lungs struggle for the oxygen her body demanded. Many Pokemon are fragile, and life slipped through their bodies rather easily.

I carry her through the misty forest of night's domain as gently as a mechanical hunter could manage. Starlight fades as tree and bush grows dense. But I know my destination.

_We are almost there._

_You are not dying on me._

And for a moment, her eyes flicker open and seem to acknowledge me before closing again, leaving me to order to return to the dark clutches of unconsciousness.

But in that moment, that split-second, it seemed she understood.

* * *

**Author's Note**: It's about time I picked up this story again. A bit of a tone shift, but I feel more comfortable writing this way. A lot has changed from when I first wrote this and where I am now. So let's see where this goes!


	3. Responsible

The soft rain splashes rhythmically on the damp floor of the forest, streaking across a sky tinged with the subtle shine of moonlight. I sit by the mouth of the plain cave, listening to the storm pass over the woods and the distant thunder slice through the silver-trimmed horizon. The entrance to the cave was rather well-hidden, tucked between several large boulders and obstructed with vegetation. Impossible to notice by any casual passerby, human or Pokemon.

The cave radiates an aura of familiarity only I feel. Do I imagine it? Do I have an imagination? There are always more questions about my existence, always appearing in my mind. Why was I even created with free thought? Why can't I just be a mindless killer like everyone expects me to be?

I reason that the cave's mysterious radiance is parallel to the attraction of Pokemon to their birthplace, even as they mature; the one area they had grown up in always carrying a sort of value. The secluded cavern was the closest thing to a home I had in the changed world. It was the place where my memories resumed the cave where I had awoken in.

A raspy cough draws me back to reality. I turned and saw the wounded Zoroark struggling for breath, laying on the damp cave floor. She was still in the dark grasp of unconsciousness, but had shifted so her chest was against the ground, placing pressure on her breathing.

I gently shift her position so she would be lying on her side, with her burned backside facing me. A grim reminder.

_I did this._

As I turn the Zoroark, I somehow feel her cold body and her slight shiver. If she didn't succumb to her injuries, then she would freeze.

_Why are natural creatures so fragile? Is it worth having emotions, feelings, but always living in the constant shadow of death?_

I ignore the pondering side of my mind and focus on sheltering my unlikely resident from the harsh climate. My first thought is to build a fire, the ancient protection against the elements of darkness and frost. But the rain still falls from the heavens, drenching the earth.

I stare silently, noting the absence of suitable firewood, but not with frustration or anger. It is a way of reminding myself that I am capable of making my own decisions, a small effort to feel less of an artificial program. But I still live in a mechanical shell, my consciousness separated from a heart that no longer serves to sustain my life...

The fire._ Why is it so difficult for me to focus?_ The Zoroark will die unless I act.

My options are limited. I had no need for anything flammable in the cave. I don't feel the cold. There is certainly nothing that escaped from the downpour outside the cave.

I try to remember my behavior some 300 million years ago. What would my people have done? My species were the ancestors of several insects, but bore similarity to arachnids.

_Is silk flammable?_

An interesting thought. But after the hundreds of millions of years, am I still capable of spinning a web? I had never tried. It seems a silly ability, made obsolete by technology. It is unlikely that the skill had been preserved in my fusion with machine.

_Trial and error._

A familiar feeling floods my head as something in my mind clicks. I feel pressure on my right arm, locking the complex machinery that replaced my tendons. I feel internal components in my forearm shift as the silky material ejects from my claw. Still concentrating, I will more of the silk out and create a fair-sized mound. The web seems unnatural. It carries a synthetic feeling, reinforced by the technologies that comprise my mechanical husk. For me, it was just another reminder of my unnatural being.

Irrelevant thoughts aside, I study the foreign material. Kneeling by the edge of the silk, I use a claw to hold a rock down and swiftly used the edge of the other to strike the stone. Golden sparks frantically race down from where my claw scrapes the surface and catch on the web. Am I doing this by instinct or memory? My pragmatic side ignores the other.

I strike the rock a couple more times, and eventually the web ignites. The small flame slowly spreads through the silk, gradually building up heat. A sudden gust of wind blows through the cave, and threatens to smother the growing fire. But the flames fight back against the storm, feeding off its irregular fuel and eventually emerging victorious as the bright fire hums with energy and pushed away the darkness.

The steady crackling of the scarlet flames blends with the soft splashes of rain thrown against the ground outside the cave. My gaze shifts to the unconscious Illusion Pokemon, her sleek black and red fur glinting under the fire's light. Though I notice a slight shudder run through her body, her constant shivering ceased as the campfire spread its warmth throughout the cavern.

My task complete, I sit down against a rocky wall of the cave. Odd how a machine demands rest. I watch the firelight dance on the cavern walls, wrestling with the dark, unforgiving shadows. The intricate patterns help to soothe my wandering mind, the sounds of the storm fading as I drift into the blank realm of subconsciousness.

* * *

It is as close of a sleep I can get. My mind remains active but I am disconnected from my mechanical frame. The only sense I possess in this subconscious state is the limited view from secondary optics, which provide a narrow, accelerated glance of my surroundings. I am unable to discern details from the view, but it performs the job sufficiently: protecting me from ambushes.

The feeling is similar to "peripheral vision." I notice things beyond my normal perception range, which in this pseudo-sleep state, is absent.

The rest allows me to think through life's questions free from distraction. Certainly an attempt to destroy me in the dormant state classifies as a distraction, but the secondary optics would prevent that.

_Why?_

These types of questions are ponderous. They allow me to think on the causes of events. And from the events of today, I have a lot of causes to think about.

_Why was that human angry? Straightforward, she was attached to that Zoroark somehow. Humans often fail to understand the predator-prey relationships, and she was no exception._

_Why did I attack the Zoroark? I was created a hunter. So I merely follow the expectation. To hunt. A hunter sharpens his skill on elusive prey, as I sought the elusive Master of Illusions. She proved not elusive enough._

_So why was I keeping her alive?_

If prey could not elude their predators, then it would be logical that they did not live on_._

_Survival of the fittest. Natural selection._

But the mechanical abomination of my existence is far from natural.

_Ironic, isn't it?_

Supposedly I can prove to myself that I am not solely a "cold-blooded killer," as the human put it. Simply by repairing the damage.

_But how can I, an unnatural arachnid more akin to a tank, fix what I destroy?_

Any decisions could not be acted on, so I dismiss the thought for a more active time. I relax my mind and finally allow myself some mental rest, with faint images of my surroundings speeding through my empty thoughts.

* * *

**Author's Note: **A bit of a question to my readers - how are the lengths of the chapters so far? Originally, before I rewrote this chapter, it was almost twice the length. Do you feel this is easier to read? In addition, it was always my plan to shift this to a more Sci-fi context, with greater detail on mechanics and whatnot. I feel it is somewhat of a taboo genre, but please leave your feedback as to what you would enjoy, both in length and subject matter.


End file.
